


Name

by gr0se



Series: Oscar/Qrow [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:25:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gr0se/pseuds/gr0se
Summary: Oscar hates that name Qrow seems to love saying.--(Adult/teen sex, trans boy Oscar, Qrow drinks too much as usual.)





	

Oscar doesn’t want to admit that when Qrow called him _Oz_ the very first time, there was a feeling. The hunstman in question was… abhorable, to say the least. Drinking alone in a bar midday, as if that was even somewhat socially acceptable was the biggest thing. The second was the look he gave, as if he knew Oscar personally. The third was the memories that leaked up into his active thoughts. The feeling that _Oz_ as a name dredged up made his stomach flutter with unsaid affection that wanted to leak out of his lips like water. He hated it. He didn’t want these feelings from this obvious piece of crap man.

 

But the name and the feelings didn’t stop, and each time Qrow came into his line of sight it was _Oz_ this and _Oz_ that. The headmaster that dwelled within his soul seemed happier now that he was hearing it, but Oscar couldn’t bear to listen to it anymore. Not with how each time it was said he could feel his gut twist and his face flush unwantedly. These feelings weren’t his. They belonged to someone from another life, from another time.

 

Despite his low-burning anger for Qrow, he finds himself in the bar beside him in the early hours of the morning.

 

Talking. Talking with him. Qrow cries a bit for the fallen headmaster, tears that had no purchase to fall until now rolling down his cheeks. Oscar can’t watch it--the tears were too personal for him. When the huntsman settles, they talk more. About memories that Oscar knows but he shouldn’t. About feelings Oscar has but he shouldn’t.

 

“He was a great man,” he hears Qrow drawl, “I miss him, Oz.”

 

And Oscar is at his rope’s end. He stands on the lowest cross-bar of his stool, hands coming up to Qrow’s hair to reel him in and press a kiss to his mouth. It’s hard, full of emotions that he had kept bottled up, that Ozpin had kept bottled up. When he pulls back, Qrow breathes out that name, _Oz_ , again. Oscar silences him with another kiss.

 

He doesn’t know when his eyes close and when Qrow has pulled him up onto his lap to pin him against the bar, but he knows it’s happened when the bartender clears his throat in annoyance.

 

“You can’t miss him,” he whispers against Qrow’s lips, “I’m already here.”

 

The words come out before he can think them--but they feel right suddenly. They must feel right for the hunstman too, because something in his face changes to tenderness. The look that he knows Oscar.

 

He slides off of Qrow’s lap; it’s a feat that is harder than it should be, with how the man tries to grab at him and keep him close. He seems to get the hint, though, when Oscar grabs at his hand. He rises, and he is always so much taller. It feels wrong, like he should be looking up to the boy. He will have to change that sometime, but for now he pulls the man to follow along.

 

Wordlessly, he unlocks the door to his room and motions for Qrow to enter. In the time it takes for him to close the door, the hunstman has his waist in a hold from behind with lips kissing and nipping at the back of his neck. Oscar grips at his arms and leans into him. Qrow backs up to the bed with almost practiced skill with the boy in tow, sitting and pulling him into his lap in a way that splays the boys legs wide.

 

Fast hands squeeze his thighs through his pants, and Oscar’s head spins with how _good_ it feels for only being something simple. His hands reach up to hook around Qrow’s neck just as one of Qrow’s much larger hands wrap loosely around his throat. The boy struggles for just a moment before he realizes he’s not in danger, but rather it’s some sort of weird dominance thing. _How typical of that dusty old crow._ The struggling seems to make the huntsman more excited, his other hand hiking up Oscar’s shirt.

 

To find a binder, in all its glory. The boy feels his heart stop-- but Qrow acts as if it’s not even there, rubbing over his flattened chest like he would if it were skin. It soothes Oscar, in a way, and he settles against Qrow with a soft sigh. The comfort doesn’t last long, though, because the huntsman’s hand goes lower, fumbling with the waistband of Oscar’s pants.  
  
“ _Wait_ \--!” The hand pauses. “You can’t--I don’t have--I’m not a--”

 

“Doesn’t matter what you do or don’t have, Oz,” Qrow’s rough voice breathes against his ear, “You’re you--that’s always been good enough for me.”

 

Oscar squirms in his hold.

 

“We don’t have to.”

 

After a deep breath, he whispers, “I want to.”

 

The hand continues, and he can hear Ozpin laugh in the back of his head. It sounds almost relieved, much like how Oscar felt.

 

The laugh cuts short as Qrow’s long, calloused fingers glide along his slit with ease. His voice resounds again, murmurs of how wet Oscar is, how he’s going to make Oscar feel good. The boy arches his back and grinds against his hand, a whimper slipping past his lips just as a finger slips into him. He slams his eyes shut. Qrow’s finger curls and presses against his insides in a way that makes him cry out. A second finger slides in alongside the first, scissoring him open.

 

“More, Qrow--!” he whines with a roll of his hips, head falling back against the man’s chest, “Please more!” The huntsman seems content to do exactly like he has been, though, dragging out the feeling and making his gut coil into knots. He curls his toes and struggles against Qrow again. He seems to take it like a challenge this time.

 

He’s pressed into the bed face down faster than he can even process, his pants already tossed aside. A hand presses against the back of his neck. He can feel his heart pound, his breath coming out in short huffs.

 

“Relax,” comes Qrow’s voice behind him, “I’ll be gentle.”

 

And he does. Just in time for the huntsman to push into him. He’s much bigger than anticipated, but with how big Qrow is compared to Oscar already, he should have expected it. The boy whimpers and arches his back. The man is gentle, just as he had promised, pulling out of him and pushing back in slowly to let him get used to the feeling. It’s not until Oscar is curling his toes and whining for more that he goes faster.

 

Qrow mumbles his name over and over-- _Oz_. Oscar doesn’t really mind the name for once, too engrossed in the pleasure that wracks his body and pools in his gut. He feels pulled taut, like he’s on the edge of something, and he just needs a push.

 

That push comes in the form of Qrow reaching a hand between his thighs and pressing a finger against his clit. A scream rips out of his throat and his body tenses up more than he could ever imagine. He can hear the huntsman murmur sweet-nothings against his shoulder, riding him through his orgasm. As he falls limp against the bed, he feels Qrow pull out and finish over his back. The huntsman drops beside him, an arm wrapping around the boy’s waist and pulling him closer.

 

Vaguely, in his daze, he can hear Qrow breathe out that he loves Oscar--with the name tacked on, of course. Oscar ignores the name that would normally make him burn with anger, instead choosing to take the affection the man has to offer.


End file.
